


Royal Jelly

by gerbilfluff



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Gangbang, Multi, Other, Pheromones, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cybugs of Hero's Duty have themselves a new king, and he's a bit of a size queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royal Jelly

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Bugdick, both Candybug and Cybug (among other equipment). Many of them. At once. Eggs are there too, but not as a main course. Overall, NOT FOR THE KIDDOS.
> 
> Oodles of thanks: to Lava, for the picture that started it all ( http://hotasslava.tumblr.com/post/42486238029/putting-these-scribbles-here-why-not-its-not-like ); to candycoatedcoyote, for being not just an awesome writer, but a faster one (seriously, if you haven’t read the fic they wrote based on the same pic, DO SO, IT IS A THING OF BEAUTY - http://candycoatedcoyote.tumblr.com/post/42561274935/heat ); to nethervane/Lava for beta help, and to Teratomarty, who is best muse.
> 
> I don’t own “Wreck-It Ralph,” no profit’s being made from this file, yadda yadda legal stuff blah.
> 
> Enough of that. BRING ON THE BD!

Royal Jelly  
by Apricot the Gerbil  
  
He was royalty before the hive took him in, too. He remembers that much.  
  
His duties nowadays don't allow time for much sleep, but sometimes he'll dream of how life used to be, back when he was small. About racing around, in little... carts? Is that what they were called? made of food. Food he didn't even bother to eat, no matter how many new eggs it could've nourished. All anybody did was try to prove who was the fastest.  
  
A dim awareness lingers, reassuring him that he'd been the champion of them all. No matter what.  
  
He's roused awake by the first of the drones prodding at him, silently nudging the feelers at his tail aside. Its proboscis unfurls to lap lightly at the crevice wrinkled shut there at the base, enough to tease the entrance open. Then it climbs on and sets to work, stuffing the code depositor jutting from its own tail unceremoniously inside him.  
  
Still half in a dream, he opens segmented eyes to a bleary kaleidoscope of green.   
  
"Thour Bill?" he mumbles weakly. For a moment, he's overcome with a rush of joy so strong it _aches_ , even if he can't for the life of him recall what a sour bill is, or why he'd be so happy to see one.  
  
The attendant Cybug scurrying along in front of him pauses, eyes glowing a neon emerald against the cave walls it's clinging to. It chitters to him in confusion.  
  
As he looks around him, his wits slowly return. There's no sun in this underground palace, no "morning" to tell him when one day ends and the next begins. There's only the low humming of his subjects scuttling in and out of his royal chamber. He watches them dart around his claws, over his massive body-- the back end of which has swollen even more impressively enormous, since he's become the best breeder this colony's ever had. He's long lost count, but there must be hundreds, probably thousands, of his offspring here, holed up beneath the craggy landscape of Hero's Duty. Each of them ready to serve their leader, in whatever ways he might require. Feeding him. Soothing him. Grooming him. Mating with him, even more often than he needs to give his many, many eggs some variety, if it strikes his fancy. And oh, how often it does...  
  
He can feel the drone pounding away, its back legs pumping mechanically. He stretches, uncoiling from the loose spiral curl he'd fallen asleep in, and shifts from his stomach onto his back, careful not to crush his wings. He glances down at the drone still clamped tight over his tail, half-hidden behind the swell of his own egg-bloated abdomen, and sighs, content to enjoy the feeling of being pushed against the rocks ever so slightly with its thrusts. This one's a decent size, for a warmup. Bit slim, though. Now, a _soldier_ , he thinks... He could go for something that's more of a challenge.  
  
Life is so much less complicated nowadays, he reflects.  
  
The drone sheaths itself inside as far as it can reach, prompting a ticklish _"Hoo hoo…!"_ from its ruler that crests into a moan. It wriggles there, front legs gripping and re-gripping around his purple candy-shelled carapace, to get some traction against the runny, honey-colored syrup beginning to slop from where they're joined.  
  
The smell soon flooding the room is stark, yet sweet, like being plunged into a vat of bakery frosting head-first. It's intoxicating. Not one bug in this entire cave could mistake the offer it extends. The few drones waiting their turn nearby perk up and draw closer, wings flickering with new urgency at the one already rutting.  
  
His jaws pull into a wide, pointy grin; his front gripper legs steeple against each other at the tips. Perfect. His usual drone lineup won't begin to satisfy his appetite, when he's in such a good mood.  
  
And indeed, every suitor in range soon comes calling, crowding the smaller worker bugs to the sidelines of the chamber. His claws curl in anticipation. It's such a lovely sight, seeing the walls bristle with eager code donators, he can _feel_ the pheromone syrup pool out of him.  
  
Which is too much for the drone trying its darnedest to hurry up and deposit; its legs finally slip in the silky-warm puddle growing on the floor around it, sending it squirting off from its perch in mid-thrust.  
  
There's a scramble to take its place. Dozens of legs and feelers whisk over his tail, until three smaller drones crowd onto him at once, stepping on each other in a frenzied bid to spear their way into a hole still hot and sopping from the last bug.  
  
It's a clumsy fit, but with the syrup there to grease their path, all three of them manage to hit their mark.  
  
His shriek is as surprised as it is delighted.  
  
"That's more _like_ it!" he roars. The sugar loops lining his neck clack along in time as they keep pounding at him. He digs his back legs into the ground to brace himself, letting the trio stretch and push tight against his membranous inner chute until he feels their code burst into him, one after another. No sooner do they fall back than more are crawling over them, wings flaring, pulsing with need.  
  
"Yeeehess…" he growls to the walls. He's giggling despite himself. They just keep coming, slurping in wherever they can fit, pumping into his depths with everything they've got, shoved aside as soon as they're empty to make room for the next. It's adorable how hard they'll try to fill a bottomless pit like his, but their efforts _do_ feel awfully nice. He can feel his own depositor gliding out lazily from between his tail-feelers; even if its function is purely ornamental by now, it's still sensitive to the rough, skittery massage his subjects are giving it on their blind rush for a turn… and those are just the drones near enough to squeeze in. There's still plenty left wanting around him.  
  
"Never let it be said I'm not a generous ruler," he grins to them, and scoops the nearest hopeful into his claws, rolling his tongue around the nubbin wiggling stiff from the tip of its tail. It tenses, rows of tiny legs clutching his fingers tight, and squirts its payload over his chin with a high-pitched squeal.  
  
He smirks, about to let it drop and grab another, but he stops short at the sight of its glossy honey-gold carapace. His eyes flit to the syrup on the ground… or what's left of it. His suitors are lapping up whatever they can find, proboscises slapping out over the rocks, their golden backs glimmering like sugar crystals. They're getting so riled up from his gift, they've begun humping at him anywhere they can press up against-- butting into the gaps of his claws, the ridges of his neck…   
  
Even against a din of motion like this, he notices the soft glow of the room plunge to blackness. He looks up, gasping through the heady bugdick swarm, and cackles at his good fortune.  
  
Standing at the chamber entrance, blotting out the light from the rest of the cave, is what the gamers would recognize as the mini-boss from halfway up the Hero's Duty tower. One of the research facilities' scientists, once-- the tattered labcoat tails swishing down from its rump and dark lines ringing its eyes like two rows of glasses are the only clues left of its humanity. Now it's the only Cybug sizable enough to earn a pet name from him.   
  
"Oh, Titan," he breathes, drinking in the curved knob bobbing proudly from its tail. "You never disappoint, do you?"  
  
Titan strides purposefully through the tide of bugs, its feelers held high, head and shoulders above even the soldiers. It gives the two drones flopping atop its majesty's prize a warning buzz that rumbles the ground. One scatters at the noise alone; the other's so immersed in the task at hand, it's still bucking at the air when Titan yanks it off.  
  
What starts as a giggle of excitement sags into a reeling, nervous whine as Titan pushes in. And _in_. And keeps pushing. No matter how many times the giant's come calling, it's always a shock just how huge this one is compared to those in his hive. He rolls onto his side without thinking, instinct wailing for the safety of the eggs inside him. The depositor's already bumping at the edge of his egg pouch, nudging the lumps on the other side this way and that.  
  
All the way in, and the bug-beast pauses, leaning down to nuzzle its head against the broad bulge of his underbelly. He barely notices the gesture; he's clawing his grippers into the rock, so full he could scream.   
  
That's when Titan starts to move.  
  
It's not often he's truly left speechless. This is one of those times.   
  
His howl chokes off, and he's panting hot bursts of breath against the ground, his strength pounded out of him with every slide and slam from the behemoth parked over his lower half. It's all he can do to curl a few of his back legs around Titan, to make sure his favorite's locked in place.  
  
His smaller minions haven't calmed down one bit. From the corner of his eye, he spies a drone dragging off the back end of one of the soldiers nearby, too crazed from the smell to notice a difference.   
  
It's the sudden frantic thrashing against his depositor that really gets his attention, though. He can't _see_ the drone that's gotten itself trapped between Titan and him-- probably after the last mouthfuls of syrup, even through the slurry of donor code he's been painted inside and out with by now-- but between Titan's bulk nestled over him and the tickling from tiny legs, there's a hot, delicious glow burning deep inside him, getting stronger with every plunge of that massive knob through the juices of dozens there before it.  
  
He claws at Titan's back, fumbling for a hold, too fucked-senseless to keep a grip when he finds one. His fingers scrape off from its carapace, down one of Titan's forelegs-- he grabs hold there, uttering a stunned groan as one jab, rougher than the rest, pins him flat against the rocks, but he makes no move to push the weight away. His fist clenches tight, just… holding on. He wails to the walls, delirious with joy. _This_. THIS is what he was after.  
  
Titan seems to sense what's coming. It's begun buzzing, grinding closer, the purr vibrating against him like  
  
 _engine roaring_  
  
like something painfully familiar, something he doesn't have the words for.   
  
_thank Miyamoto for a top-shelf AI--_  
  
 _"Yes."_ His whole back end quivers and goes rigid, lifting the slightest bit off the ground; he feels the trapped drone wrench itself free, but he's too close to care. _"Unhhh_ yes…" All four of his back legs twitch (kicking off a soldier trying determinedly to mate with one). _"Yehh_ hehess _yes yes YESSSS--"_   
  
Molten light. Falling out of him.   
  
The strings of jelly his depositor sprays over the subjects behind him smell of sweetest peppermint.  
  
He's shaking in Titan's grasp, silently jealous of the stamina of this bug nearly half his size. Sweaty, bathed in stickiness from all sides, he must look very un-regal, but he feels _so good_. No, better than that. This is turbo- _tastic_ …  
  
Wait.  
  
His legs freeze where they're tangled. He _knows_ that word.   
  
It was his name, wasn't it? His name is...  
  
Streaks of red code dart across the candybug's face, pale pink pixels glitching to a deathly gray.  
  
Turbo looks down at the mass of twisted purples and oranges where his body should be, all of it lit a sickly green by the roiling mass of bugs, bugs everywhere, crawling on him, IN HIM, something huge holding him down, no, _NO, what is-- what?!!_  
  
He screams.  
  
He can't _stop_ screaming.  
  
His subjects scuttle over him faster, trying to calm their leader as he swats them away with panicky, aimless claws, crunching one drone against the walls without even noticing. The giant beetle-thing heaving on top of him pulls away with a squelch that just leaves him even more confused, _and empty_. It wisely keeps its distance, even if Turbo doesn't notice the puzzled head-tilt it gives him.  
  
It's less a coherent thought that stops his rampage than a pattern; a series of beats stuck looping in his mind, like background music made of pulses instead of the usual arcade beeps and bloops. Programming code. And it's not his.  
  
This isn't the first time he's woken up, he recalls dimly. But he doesn't have to stay. The Cybug programming's as much a part of him now as anything else. He can let it take over whenever he wants. His old game's gone, anyhow. _All_ his old games are gone.  
  
Turbo flinches, his eyes adjusted to the dark just enough to see the cave ceiling mere feet from his face-- a detail that apparently doesn't bother gigantic bug monsters. Shuddering with a new sense of claustrophobia, he protests, _Th-this isn't fair!_  
  
 _But it's so much easier this way,_ his bug code reasons for him. _Racing or not, I'm still the best in this whole game. Nobody lays faster than I do!_  
  
A wave of nausea sweeps over him as he realizes the shifting feeling deep in his gut is… _Eggs. Those are EGGS, aren't they._   
  
He covers his face with hands he doesn't recognize. _Nope. Nuh-uh. Not doin' this, let me out, get me OUT OF HERE!!_  
  
The Cybug coding is happy to oblige.   
  
His eyes flicker from yellow to segmented green once more. Every leg he has visibly relaxes.   
  
What an odd feeling, he thinks, shaking his head. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear he'd just woken up from some terrible dream.  
  
He sees his favorite donator lumbering closer, and beckons to Titan with his claws, a sly grin sliding back onto his face. "Get over here, little guy. I never said you were done."  
  
\---  
  
 _LATER..._  
  
"Keep an eye out, rookies!" Lieutenant Calhoun shouts to the two screens keeping pace behind her. "Shoot the eggs before they hatch!"  
  
The blonde girl in glasses aiming a plastic rifle from the screen on the left tenses, spotting something behind Calhoun. "Oh! Shoot the gold ones first! They jump on you faster than the green ones."  
  
The shorter boy on the right squints behind his riflesights. "Huh. Never knew they came in different colors."  
  
"What, you never heard of palette swaps before?" The girl rolls her eyes before blasting yet another Cybug to smithereens. "Pff. Noob…"  
  
 _"Markowski!"_ Calhoun yells, pointing offscreen. "For the last time, _stop wrestling with them!"_  
  
Between falsetto shrieks comes a wail from behind them: _"I'M NOOOT!!"_


End file.
